I was in two minds whether to take a train or a canoe to work this week - the wettest April in England since records began has prompted old men with beards to contact London Zoo and offer to lead animals out two-by-two to the safety of a hastily constructed ark.  It's appropriate that rain doesn't rhyme with sun or heat:  it hangs around instead causing trouble on street corners with pain, lame, blame and insane.  It got me thinking, who casts an eye on the drizzle and downpours of life and comments on its absurdity to those dissassociated souls trying to chase rainbows in it?

Out of the shadows steps the Antihero:  invented by the French as Meursault, the protagonist in Camus' book L' Etranger (The Outsider), he was perfected by the Germans in Beckmann, the battle weary, World War II soldier, who depicted the despair of his author, Wolfgang Borchert, in Draussen vor der Tuer (The Man Outside The Door.)  Returning soliders found themselves cast aside by a society that did not want to confront its recent past, as it was struggling to cope with the harsh reality of its immediate present.  Borchert died a broken man at the age of 32, and never even saw his award-winning play performed.

Well, there's now a new EU Antihero in town.  Not for him the firing-squad fate that befell Meursault, nor the slammed doors that greeted homecomer Beckmann. Lindemann's bellowing voice could blow a door clean off its hinges (if he hasn't already scorched it to pieces with a flamethrower.) HIs lyrics take no prisoners; he's not in the mood to be compromised. Lindmann's songs are like the pounding rain - they pelt torrential sound beats in your general direction, which seep under your collar, increasing your overall discomfort. He observes the Dark Side of humanity, and, unlike Meursault and Beckmann, who were sadly consumed by it all, he holds humanity itself into the light for a closer, warts-and-all inspection.

This Outsider's hammering his fist on the door - it's time to let him come home.